


Until this Dream is Gone

by alutiv



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bad Dreams, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 09:39:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19827463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alutiv/pseuds/alutiv
Summary: Crowley dreams of fire.This would be unremarkable, but for one thing: this particular fire fills him with a holy terror he hasn’t felt for millennia.





	Until this Dream is Gone

**Author's Note:**

> I had a dream about a burning house  
> You were stuck inside  
> I couldn't get you out  
> I lay beside you and pulled you close  
> And the two of us went up in smoke  
> \- Cam, "Burning House"

Crowley dreams of fire.

This would be unremarkable, but for one thing: this particular fire fills him with a holy terror he hasn’t felt for millennia.

Usually, Crowley is quite fond of fire. He runs cold, and there were centuries on Earth during which fire was the only warmth in the night. As a demon, he’d wielded his share (and then some, to be honest), of hellfire. Fire, under his control, can be fun. This fire is decidedly neither.

It’s a dream, he knows it’s a dream, but that doesn’t stop the fear roiling his gut. The dream has grown out of a memory, not one he’d like to revisit, and he’d like to wake up. Right. Now.

Before him, the bookshop burns.

He snaps his fingers as he runs, then crashes into the door, which has remained stubbornly shut, because that’s how this dream is going to go, it seems. He grabs at the handle, and the door flies open.

"Aziraphale! Aziraphale, where are you?"

The only answer is a _whoosh_ of flames consuming the fresh oxygen. He kicks the door closed and tears through the shop, searching, shouting. Beneath a pile of books, Aziraphale lies unmoving, eyes closed. Still corporeal. There’s still hope.

He throws books every which way, not caring how or where they land. Aziraphale should yell at him for manhandling the precious volumes, but Aziraphale remains silent and still. Fine, Aziraphale can yell at him later. Please, G--, Sa---, _Somebody_ , let Aziraphale yell at him later. A pile of books grows behind him, but the pile in front of him gets no smaller.

 _Blessed dreams_ , he curses.

Crowley looks to the windows, to the door, to Aziraphale. He closes his eyes and spreads his wings, draping himself over the books, curving the tips of his wings to the floor, reaching out for what contact he can manage. He strokes Aziraphale’s cheek with his thumb.

“I won’t go,” he whispers. “Not without you.”

The building creaks and squeals, and then the ceiling breaks open and everything crashes down, and still he shelters Aziraphale under the dark canopy of his wings.

The shop burns to ash around them, and it’s so cold.

“Crowley?”

He opens his eyes to find Aziraphale looking up at him with concern. Crowley is sprawled over him, pinning him down, open wings shrouding the bed in darkness. Crowley blinks and sits up, folding his wings away.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale sits up with his back against the headboard. He’s dressed as he was when he settled into the armchair with his book and his cocoa while Crowley went to bed. Crowley shifts to sit beside Aziraphale, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them, wrapping his arms around his shins, as close as he can get to coiling around himself in this Aspect.

He risks a glance. Aziraphale’s tie is askew. “You don’t sleep,” Crowley says. “What’re you doing here?”

Aziraphale blushes. “Sorry,” he says. He sits up straighter and turns away.

“No, you don’t have to go.” Crowley puts a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, then jerks it back, uncertain. “Unless, I mean, you want to go. It’s up to you.”

“You called for me,” Aziraphale says, still looking at the floor. “I came in, and you were sleeping. I have to say, it didn’t look like a pleasant experience to me.”

Crowley almost laughs. “It isn’t usually like that.”

“I couldn’t quite bring myself to leave you in such a state.” He turns back to face Crowley. “What was it?”

“A dream. About the fire.”

Aziraphale winces.

“In the bookshop,” he clarifies.

Aziraphale winces again.

“I couldn’t get you out, so I stayed.”

Aziraphale caresses his cheek. “You are….” He trails off.

“Ridiculous?” Crowley supplies.

“A wonder.”

Crowley stretches, then wraps his arms around Aziraphale and squeezes, perhaps a little too tightly.

He rests his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder and presses a kiss to his neck.

“Thank you,” he whispers, “for answering when I called.”

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did I write a 666 word fic in which the last words start with "c" and "a"? Yes, I did.
> 
> It just sort of happened.


End file.
